


Prompt 1: Family

by GemmaRose



Series: 32 Days of Sanji [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, No Dialogue, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:12:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7357099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Sanji, and you have called three places home in your short life. You have called three groups of people your family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt 1: Family

You are three years old and tailing Ichiji around the ship, stifling giggles because if you laugh he’ll catch you and then Dad will be upset. He whips around, and a knife thuds into the wall just in front of your face. Ichiji is angry, and your shoulders hunch in as you brace for the blow you know is coming. He still knocks you across the deck, and you wipe tears from your eyes as you get back up. You have to do better next time.

-

You hold your breath as Reiju unwraps the picture frame you decorated for her. You drew all the poison symbols and coloured in the bottles, and Mom helped you cut and glue them in place. It took over an hour to get right, and you _really_ hope she likes it. She laughs, and when she holds it up so does everyone else. You shrink into your seat and Mom rests a hand on your head. You’ll have to do better for Solstice.

-

You are four years old and the training knives are heavy in your hands, hilts slippery with sweat. Niji looks relaxed, as he always does when you’re learning how to fight, but his grin makes your stomach turn. Your arms hurt and you want to cry, but you don’t. You’re a Vinsmoke, and Vinsmokes don’t cry. Not even when their big brothers knock them down again and again. You sway slightly with the waves rocking the ship, and lunge at your brother. You can stop once you land a death blow, and if you fail then Dad will be even more disappointed. You scream and charge again. You won’t fail, not this time.

-

You are five years old and Mom carefully positions your hands and arms so you can hold your new baby brother. Yonji is so tiny, his eyebrows curling left where yours curl right, and you can’t help but smile as Mom leans over your shoulder to kiss his forehead. You’re going to be the best big brother ever, way better then Ichiji and Niji. You tell Mom this, and she laughs before pressing a kiss to your forehead as well.

-

You are seven years old and Dad smiles as you show him blood on the knives he gave you earlier that night. He smiles, ruffles your hair as he praises you, but the warmth you expected doesn’t appear. Instead you feel sick, and when you get back to your room you scrub your hands clean three times before you realize your cheeks are wet with tears. You couldn’t do it, couldn’t do one simple job. Your big brothers and big sister were doing small jobs like that before they turned six, and yet you still can’t even kill a stupid islander. You cut his arms, but let him get away. You need to be better, but uncertainty weighs heavy in your stomach. What kind of better? You don’t know.

-

You are eight years old and Goju is so tiny in Mom’s arms, delicate eyebrows both curled on the inner edge. Your siblings are cooing behind you, Yonji tugging on your sleeve each time he jumps up to get a better look. Reiju scoops him up eventually, but you hardly notice. Your baby sister is so small, soft and delicate and the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You resolve on the spot that you’ll protect her, and you’ll be the greatest big brother ever for her. Even better than you were for Yonji.

-

Mom sneaks you and Goju off of the ship just after midnight, when the watch is mid-change. There are no heavy footsteps to warn you, only the sound of a blade leaving its sheath. Mom puts Goju in your arms and tells you to run, to get away, to protect your baby sister. You tell her you will. You break your word three times in the next half hour.

-

You are eleven years old and the newly built Baratie feels more like home than Germa’s flagship ever did. You almost wish that Goju and Mom had been able to come with you on the Orbit, but then they would’ve starved with you on the rock and none of you would’ve survived. Zeff doesn’t ask what’s wrong when the anniversary of their deaths comes around, just gives you a day off from working the restaurant and lets you mourn as you will. You think he’s probably the best person you could’ve wound up with. Better than being home with your dad, at any rate.

-

You are fourteen when it slips out of your mouth. It’s in the middle of an argument, well, the end of one since Zeff and the entire kitchen goes pin drop silent after you say it. The old geezer grins, and you do your level best to plant your heel in his stupid face, yelling all the while. He laughs, and the cooks laugh with him, and your face burns hot as a griddle as you storm out the back door and hide away on the roof. Part of you knows you’re acting like a sulky teenager but so what, you are a teenager, you’re allowed to act like one once in a damn while.

Zeff finds you up there when the lunch rush is over, sits next to you and puts a heavy arm around your narrow shoulders. He asks what you think of him, really, and you break. You tell him everything. Your family name, why you ran, the whole sordid story. He listens silently until you run out of words, your throat hoarse and cigarette burnt down to ash on the roof tiles. Then, when you’re so _certain_ that he’s about to go back to the kitchen and tell you to pack your bags, Zeff pulls you against his barrel chest in the tightest hug you’ve ever been given.

He skirts around the exact words, but the sentiment is definitely there. He thinks of you as a son, he’s _proud_ to have you as a son. You smile, and your laugh is a wet, broken thing when it wrenches out of your throat, but it’s okay. It’s okay because you have Zeff, you have the Baratie, you have a home and a family so much better than anything North Blue ever offered you after your mother’s death.

-

You are nineteen and exhausted, regretting your agreement to this stupid training. You’re out of smokes, but that’s not the reason behind the ache in your chest. You miss your nakama. Beautiful Nami and Robin most of all, of course, but also the men of the crew. Luffy, Usopp, Chopper, Franky, Brook, even Zoro. You miss them so fiercely it’s like a physical pain. Less intense than after your mother and little sister died, more like when you left the Baratie, leaving behind the cooks you thought of like a family of particularly annoying older brothers and cousins.

You tilt your head back against the trunk of the tree you’re hiding in for the night, looking up at the stars through its foliage. Just ninety seven more recipes to go, and you can go home. Home to the Sunny, to the crew you would gladly call family if it wouldn’t give Zoro so damn much free ammunition to tease you with. You exhale and think idly that you’d kill a man for a cigarette, but you’d sink a whole fleet of Marine battleships if it meant you could be reunited with your family. Not the Vinsmokes, not the crew of the Baratie, but your real family. The one you chose.


End file.
